


Brace For Impact

by Jaffre



Category: Gunpoint (Video Game)
Genre: Alcohol, College AU, Gen
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2014-11-26
Updated: 2016-01-14
Packaged: 2018-02-27 02:47:45
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 2
Words: 3,981
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/2676128
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Jaffre/pseuds/Jaffre
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Richard likes to drink at parties, and experience proves it's not easy to ride a bicycle while drunk. Hopefully, there's someone here to help him out.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Brace For Impact

**Author's Note:**

> As usual, a big thanks to TunefulCandour for proofreading my work, AND for the title. One day I will channel your pun master energy.

The night had been wild, like they always were. Richard had gotten visibly drunk and was now stumbling out the bar, waving good night to his ~~friends~~ fellow classmates. He animated parties vividly, but somehow always ended going home on his own. Surely, he was too popular, people were intimidated to talk to him, he reassured himself, though he didn't believe a single word of it himself. He had no friends— only acquaintances. He knew he was the butt of the jokes, that no one actually cared for him, that once the parties were over, he was left alone, dragging his intoxicated body home. He was very aware of this, even though he wasn't showing any sign of it, and had gotten used to it. The parties, the heat, the alcohol, the laughs, it was easy to lose himself in it. It made him feel validated. He was part of the bunch. He belonged.

It took him ten minutes to reach his bicycle parked two streets away, and he was still struggling with the second padlock when he heard a voice behind him.

"Conway?"

He tripped over his own feet while trying to turn around, and fell onto his bike. Nicely done. Well, now that he was down there, he wasn't even going to bother getting up.

"You're Richard Conway from ITE, right?"  
"How d'you know my name?" his words trailed, heavy with alcohol.  
"Are you alright?"  
"Don't reply my questions with other questions."

A hand was offered to him. He took it, and felt like he almost brought the other down with him with how much of his weight he put on it. Once on his feet, he could take a look at the guy. His face was familiar, he definitely was in his class. He also remembered seeing him tonight; he’d noticed because it seemed unlike him to go to parties. Or at least, those kinds of parties.

"I'm Hightower, from the student council," he said in a sigh.  
"Do they make you learn the whole name list or what."  
"I'm not going to answer that."  
"Whatever."

They stared at each other, a tad awkwardly. Their height difference was more than noticeable, which made Richard visibly uncomfortable. He felt really tiny next to him, and he _hated_ it. Tall people weren't to be trusted.

"How are you feeling?"  
"I'm rocking it, baby."

He wasn't rocking it. He felt helpless and alone. Certainly not something he was going to admit to anyone, especially not this big noodle dude.

"No offence but you look like you've been run over by a six ton truck."  
"I don't know about that, but it certainly _feels_ like it."

Hightower held out his arms in disbelief.

"You sure it's a good idea to ride _this_ in your current state?" he pointed at Richard's sweet ride.  
"Listen buddy, I do that almost every night, so you're not going to tell me how I have to live my life."

Truth is, he often got himself lost on the way back... and often missed morning classes because of it. He stared down at his bicycle. Sure, it was an old thing, he had to repair it himself several times, and the blue neon paint on the frame was starting to wash out. He had painted it himself. It looked cool, and made him very visible for cars, which was probably the only reason why he was still alive.

"Do you live far from here?"

Richard shrugged, "Why do you care?"

"You’re visibly drunk and I don't want your death on my conscience for not helping you out."  
"My pleasure to help you earn your brownie points," he snarked.  
"It's not like that." His voice was getting more and more exasperated.

The second padlock finally snapped open, and Richard settled his bike up.

"Well have a good night my good sir," he exclaimed with no effort to hide his annoyance.

He hopped on, and zigzagged away. With no difficulty, Hightower had reached him and was walking by his side. Pouty face on, Richard ignored him completely. He kept on pedalling, thinking he was going faster than he actually went, and felt a weird vertigo seeing the other keeping up the pace by his side. He braked in surprise, and felt his heart pounding in his chest as the bicycle pathetically fell on the side. Hightower launched himself forward just in time to get a hold of him— not being strong enough to hold him up, he was carried in the fall.

Loud groans. There was a mess of metallic bars clattering on the ground and tangled limbs, the struggle of two boys who were way too close to each other for their own comfort.

"Get the fuck off me creep."  
"Sorry..."

Being on top of the pile, Hightower was back up on his feet in no time. Richard had more troubles, his leg stuck under the bike, and refusing any assistance.

"Dude! Leave me alone!" he yelled back when the other grabbed his arm.

He immediately let go. "I'm just trying to help..."

"That very kind of you but I don't need the help of the random dude that insisted taking drunk me home that was centimeters away from my crotch a few seconds ago so thank you very much but good bye."

The sentence had left him out of breath. Not wanting to freak him out any further, Hightower backed off a few steps, still keeping an eye on him. He wasn't going to leave the guy to his misery just like that.

"Alright, I'm leaving you alone, but you have to at least call a friend to pick you up."  
"I can do very good on my own."

He couldn't. Yes, he wiggled around, trying to coordinate his movements to get up, but to no avail. He was stuck. His face red with anger, embarrassment and drunkenness, he stared right at Hightower.

"Ok, ok... I _might_ need a bit of help here."  
"Are you sure?" he asked, half-teasing.  
"... yes," and with the grumpiest expression he added, "please."

A few minutes later, he was back up, using the other as a support. As suspected, he had hurt his leg in the fall. It wasn't a serious injury, and could probably have walked around on his own if he wasn't completely wasted. On his own directives, and rolling the bike by his side, they walked the whole way to Conway's apartment.

"Whatev, I'm let you 'company me but— y'have to tell me more 'bout you. Like, your name."  
"Already told you, it's Hightower."  
"Your full name. Ya know mine, it's only fair."  
"Just, Hightower," he assured, firmly.  
"Ooooh I see. You must have a _really_ embarrassing first name, amarite? Something 'original' I'm guess?"  
"I'm not answering that question."  
"Sure it's something with a lot of 'k' and 'h' and 'y' for no reasons other than looking unique."  
"Don't do that."  
"So I'm right? Riiiiiiight?" teasingly poking at Hightower’s chest with his free hand.  
"You're aware that I could drop you and your bicycle right now if I wanted."  
"You wouldn't. You ain't stayed here helping me just to stop because I'm an ass."  
"You're right," he admitted. "But you're not going to get anything interesting from knowing my name."  
"Right, right…" it seemed to take him a colossal effort to think, which was probably the case with what he ingested. "Tell me somethin' else 'bout you then."  
"I’m damn handsome."  
"I can see that," he snorted, with that blissful smile of the drunken.

Hightower turned several shades brighter, regretting his last words. The hand on his chest wasn’t helping with that either.

"You’re drunk."  
"So?"

Richard was glad he redirected the attention away from him. Well, it wasn’t really a conscious realization, he simply felt more light-hearted, all giddy seeing the other one all embarrassed. He was kinda cute with that frowny face, a few locks of hair falling on his eyes, and the little shade his newsboy cap threw on, as if he was trying to hide behind it. For a moment, he lost himself in said eyes, to the point he heard him say something, but didn’t actually registered the words.

"Eh?" he hummed.  
"Don’t pass out on me."  
"Oh, I wouldn’t dare."

Oh gosh, he was even cuter when he smiled. A tiny giggly smile. Richard just wanted to touch his face… Clinging closer to him, he threw off too much weight, unbalancing them, which took drunken laughs out of him and casted a shadow of worry on Hightower, who was struggling stabilizing both of them and the bicycle.

"Christ, be careful," adjusting his grip on Conway.  
"What? You worried the ground’s gonna swallow you?"

It wasn’t far from truth. The single action of moving around felt like a dangerous waltz, where each step could shatter him, and the drunken giggles Richard exploded into after muttering under his breath that he'd love to be the ground wasn't helping either. He ignored the comment with all his might.

Alas, Richard had lost himself in Hightower once again. Snuggling against his warm body, barely walking on his own, his hands tugging at his clothes tightly, like he was afraid to slide off. He rested his head on his shoulder, mumbling to himself.

"You smell nice... Like... like moss... I could, like, roll myself into you, and it'll feel like spring..."

This was getting way too awkward for him. He cleared his throat and adjusted his grip on him to snap him out of his reverie.

"Woah, there," Richard blurted out waving at the building on their left. "There it is. Just… drop me there." He saw Hightower raising an eyebrow. "I’d be ok. I can handle stairs."

And on that he got out of his hold and stumbled onto the front door. Slowly turning around, so to be back to the door, he shot him a wide smile.

"Though... It be cool if you could, like, park my bike... I don't think I can operate a padlock."

Hightower smiled back and nodded, as Richard pointed at the nearest lamppost. He parked and locked it as asked, while the drunken boy was trifling through his pockets to find the magnetic key and open the front door. The light buzzing sound made Hightower turn around. Richard was staring back at him, a sly smile on his face.

"Alrighty then... Good night."

He waved before disappearing into the building.

* * *

Richard woke up the next morning with the worst hangover ever. Of course, that's what he said every time. It wasn't _actually_ worst than _ever_ , just, really awful. Also, his leg still hurt, and it was already past 9 am. Shit, if he got ready real fast, he could maybe get in time for his first class. After a quick clean up and kissing his grandparents good bye, he limped down the stairs, barged into the street, struggled with the padlocks, and hopped on his bicycle, riding his way to the campus.

His mind was still cloudy, trying to recap the events from the night, then he almost lost balance when he remembered that cute guy, Hightower. Oh _hell_ no. His face grew red in embarrassment. He should... he should really apologise and thank him for walking him back. But where to find him? He knew that they had some classes together but he couldn't actual remember which ones.

He spent the whole morning looking for him, trying to find his face in the ocean of students that were attending the same classes. Of course that meant he wasn't paying any attention to the actual class. Doodling on his notepad, sighing heavily, he couldn't keep himself from looking up from it every five seconds, on the lookout. He was so worried that if he couldn't find him today, his face would fade away from his memories and he would never be able to find him ever again— he didn't even know his name!

It's only at the end of the two-hours lecture that his glare settled on a familiar face. It took him a little while to recognise him. He had traded his turtleneck for a leather jacket, and his hair was puffed up and not hiding under a cap. He was talking with another student, and when they parted ways, Hightower checked his phone. Then, he looked up from it. Their eyes met. Richard looked away and tried to act natural, quickly gathered his things, stood up and walked to him with all the confidence he could gather.

"You look less blurry than I remember."  
"The joys of HD life."

Richard couldn't help but smile.

"So, em, about last night..." he was scratching his cheek, looking away. "I just wanted to say thanks..."  
"You're welcome."  
"And also... Uh... I'm sorry for anything out of line I might have said?"  
" _Might_?" he raised both eyebrows.  
"My memories are in 60 Hz."  
"That's a frequency, not a resolution."

Ouh, burn. What a nerd.

"I know you know what I mean," he retorted, waving a finger at his face.  
"Don't worry, you were a real gentleman," he snarked back, and started walking out of the lecture hall, Richard on his toes.  
"Ha, I sure am!" he boasted, running his fingers in his hair. "The smoothest man on this earth."  
"Oh, certainly," he chuckled. "No one can resist your enigmatic charms."  
"Yes, I am irresistible," he nodded. Then, turning to him "No, now, don't be jealous, please," he patted him on the back. "There is much to learn from such a figure as me."  
"That would be a real _honour_ to be taught your secrets," he checked the time on his phone. "Unfortunately that would have to wait. I wouldn't want to miss my next class."  
"But of course, and I wouldn't want to stand in the way of Knowledge!"

Hightower grabbed Richard's wrist. Blood rushed from his heart to his face at the sudden touch. Then, there was the contact of the felt pen.

"Text me. I'll call you when I'm out."

He gazed upon the number on the back of his hand, peeking through the hole of his fingerless glove, then back at him. There was a small smile on his face as he disappeared in the hallway.

Richard held his hand against his chest, his face red with emotion.


	2. Lunch Break

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I didn't plan on having more than one chapter at fist, but I quickly had more ideas to put in. Though as you can see it took me more than one year to finally post up chapter 2. I do have more ideas for this, but I don't know when I'll actually write it.
> 
> Also: a big thanks to TunefulCandour for finding the "Wok 'n' Roll" name. I luv you.

> To: Hightower
> 
> It is I, your irresitible joe.

— Richard texted, like they had agreed. Contrarily to him, he didn't have any more classes this morning, which was a relief. He wouldn't have been able to focus on any lesson. Usually, he spent this free time in the library to master his incredible haxxor skillz, but right now, he was barely containing his excitement to even think straight. "Hacking" Facebook accounts for fun would have to wait. Instead, he decided to take a walk around the campus. Ha, that felt nice. A soft breeze flowing through the leaves, brushing on his face. You could _feel_  that spring was nearly there. For some reason, it made him think of Hightower even more— something from last night he couldn't quite recall.

A ball of apprehension started forming in his guts, and he rushed to the nearest bathroom. Oh gosh, was he nervous. In less than twelve hours, he had met this guy and got his number. Worst, he had already seen him completely wasted. He stared at his reflection in the mirror, squishing his tiny face in his hands. Yes, he had _already_  seen him wasted, and he still gave him his number after that. What was he worried about? It didn't seem like he had been bothered by his drunken babbling— whatever he may have said. That was good, right? Unless he wanted to make fun of him... That wouldn't be the first time... He didn't want that to be true, he didn't want to believe it. He simply chased the thought out of his mind by shaking his head and rubbing his cheeks.

In a sigh, he dropped to the ground, back to the wall— or radiator for that matter. A nice, fuzzy warmth spreading across his back. He stared at his hand. The number was still there. Of course it was still there, he had considered cleaning it off, but he was afraid to delete the number on his phone by accident and not being able to contact him. It didn't even make sense, Hightower said he was the one to call. Still, Richard liked to see the numbers on his skin. It made it all so real— reassuring, in a way.

He bumped back his head on the wall and stared blindly at the ceiling, trying not to think more about this **nerd**. He felt like he was thirteen again, hiding in the bathroom thinking about boys... It was ridiculous. He was twenty-two now. Twenty-two! He didn't know a thing about him! Was Hightower even his last name? ... The question suddenly piqued his curiosity.

There was all this time in his hands, he'd better use it for good causes— for example, finding out the identity of that guy you have a crush on. Yes, that wasn't creepy at all, it was simply... being cautious. With that in mind, he rushed down to the library and got a hold of one of the computers. A few mouse clicks and keyboard smashes later, he pulled up a high detailed list of the students attending the University. He really wasn't supposed to access such document— as if it ever stopped him before. It wasn't the first time he broke into the administration databases. He had himself modified his own entry on the system, and no one ever noticed it— he was careful enough to erase any traces he was even there.

The students list now before his eyes, he searched for "Hightower". Three results were listed. After closer inspection, he concluded he was none of them. The pictures didn't match, and most importantly, none of them had ITE _and_  Criminology— the two classes Richard knew he attended, considering it was the two they had in common. It wasn’t all that surprising; he sure was reluctant to give his name. "Hightower" being a nickname was pretty much confirmed. Narrowing his eyes, he launched a second search, to list all students attending the two classes. There was _quite_  a few results. It sure was going to take him some time to sort through all these pictures, so he didn’t lose any time getting to work.

The minutes ticked down, as he reviewed each student profile from the narrowed list. He was too focused on the task to get bored from the repetitiveness of it. Before he reached the end, the vibration of his phone interrupted him. He jumped off his seat, answering the call with one hand, cleaning the temp files and logging off his session with the other.

"Yeah?" he half-whispered. He was in a library after all.  
"I have one hour before my afternoon classes. Wanna grab something to eat?"  
"Sure! I mean, I have a lunchbox so, your choice."  
"Alright. Meet me at the Wok 'n' Roll."  
"I'm on it!" and on that, Hightower hung up.

Well, that was a very succinct call, Richard thought to himself, throwing his bag over his shoulder. He rushed out of the library and almost fell down the stairs in his hurry. It woke up the pain in his leg. Sighing, he limped to the outskirts of the campus.

* * *

The Wok 'n' Roll was a punk-rock themed asian place famous among a certain population of students, because, of course, any fast food restaurant with a pun in its name was respectably edgy. Richard didn't think or knew much else about it, he never had the opportunity to eat there, although he knew where to look for it — it was on his way to the campus.

He soon arrived and stood a bit on the outside, his gaze looking for Hightower inside.

"Richard."

The voice in his back startled him. He didn't turn around though, instead tipping his head back to look behind him — and almost lost balance. Hightower shot him a disapproving look.

"If you don’t behave yourself I’m just going to leave."  
"What, are you worried I’m gonna ruin your reputation?"

Hightower shrugged the question, awkwardly looking away. "Let's just go in before my next classes start."  
"You didn't answer my questiooooon..." Richard trailed, following Hightower inside.  
"Let's say I value my classes more than my reputation."  
"And I value my belly more than my classes."  
"What does this have to do with what I just said..." he handed money to the cashier.  
"Tummies are important," and gave a pat on his own belly.  
"I don't know what I'm supposed to reply to that," he stated, incredulous.

They left the shop and Richard led the both of them to a nice spot in the grass to sit down. The sky was a cloudy white, with soft sunbeams peeking through now and then. Hightower sat cross-legged, while Richard lied down in the grass, arms and legs spread, laughing to himself. This almost-spring was very pleasant, and he closed his eyes for a moment.

"Don't fall asleep on me."

He opened an eye, then the other and sat up. "I'm _enjoying_  the weather."

Hightower had started on his noodles. Chopsticks halfway from his open mouth, he shot another disapproving glance at him.

"I have cla—"  
"You have classes afterwards, yeah yeah, I know—"  
"Don't cut me!" Hightower frowned.  
"I uh..." Richard froze. Did he upset him? He didn't want to upset him...   
"It's... it's just rude..."

He shoved the noodles up his mouth and looked away.

"Uh, sorry about that..." he fidgeted, trying to think of a way to un-tense the situation. "So uh... what's your next class?"

The trick seemed to work, as the boy looked back.

"Well... I have Accounting," he striked a smile. "It's pretty boring to be honest, but I have to pay attention."  
"Why did you pick it then?" Richard asked carefully, while —finally— taking his lunchbox out of his bag.

Hightower shrugged. "Seemed interesting."

The conversation quickly embarked on the topic of their classes. Richard was impressed to learn that Hightower was taking four different languages at the same time. "Italian is easy— it's my mother tongue, alongside English. Turkish is trickier, but it's my heritage. Czech and French are purely out of curiosity," he had said. Richard tried showing off saying that he, too, spoke multiple languages — computer languages. Well, at least he was learning. It gave him the opportunity to hear Hightower's cute giggles, and made his face go warm.

Once Richard finished his meal, he lied down in the grass one more time, patting his full belly poking from under his jersey. Hightower averted his eyes, a slight red tint on his cheeks. Hoping that the other didn't notice this, he turned the conversation on the topic of video games, which made Richard rise back up instantly as he vibrated in clear excitement. They chatted about their favourite genres and their personal classics while Hightower finished up his noodles. The conversation kept on afterwards, as Richard rambled on and on about his favourite game.

Unfortunately, Hightower had to cut short the other boy's excitement.

"My class starts in ten minutes," he said, checking his phone and getting up. "I gotta go."  
"Alright, seeya later then!"

Richard followed the motion and got to his feet, expecting some other form of good bye. Hightower was looking away — probably figuring out his way to his next class. Then their eyes met again. He smiled, giving Richard a little hand wave, to which he replied the same way, then turned around and left. He kept watching his back and his little trot as he disappeared at the corner of the nearest building, then fell back into the grass, eyes lost into the cloudy sky.


End file.
